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by Piano_Padawan



Series: GingerPilot Holiday 2018 - 2019 [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Child Abuse, Damerux, Gingerpilot, Gingerpilot Holiday 2018, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Hux is a Slytherin, M/M, so is poe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2019-10-04 00:53:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17294576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piano_Padawan/pseuds/Piano_Padawan
Summary: "Poe felt a wave of dread course through his veins. His worst fears were confirmed when he opened the door to find Armitage, shivering from the cold, with dark lines of blood dripping from his arm onto the snow."In which Poe’s Christmas break away from Hogwarts is interrupted by something both he and Armitage have long suspected to be inevitable. Secrets can only be kept for so long, and a Muggle-born dating the son of a reactionary Blood Purist in a hostile political environment can’t go long without trouble.(This was posted as part of the GingerPilot holiday event but is not strictly seasonal. The story continues beyond the Christmas break into the end of Poe and Armitage's 7th year.)





	1. Patience

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor Star Wars, or any of the characters, themes, etc. mentioned in this story. All copyrighted work here is intended for transformative purposes.
> 
> A/N: A note on how I worked out the houses for this, in case anyone’s curious. In my mind, Hux is the archetypal Slytherin. I’ve seen Poe sorted into Gryffindor fairly often and generally agree with that, but I wanted to take this fic a different direction. I might write another one-shot or something for this series that goes into how he got sorted into Slytherin in the first place, but I swear, I actually thought about this first.

Poe Dameron crossed his arms, tapping his foot impatiently against the stone floor. After his last exam before the Christmas break, he’d been hoping for some time to relax. Standing in the middle of the dungeon hallway, shouting the names of animals at a wall, wasn’t quite what he’d had in mind.

_Come on, it’s something…_ He scoured his memory. Whose idea had it been to change the password every fortnight? Who could keep track of that? _Some kind of snake… serpent thing…_

“Basilisk!”

The wall remained as immutable as ever. Poe drew his wand out of his robes. It took all his willpower to resist blasting the barrier to bits with an exploding charm. He could have done so easily. The _Bombarda_ charm was one of the few spells he’d excelled at beyond class expectations, mastering the more complicated variations well before his third year at Hogwarts. As his charms professor, Professor Ackbar had put it, no other student had ever demonstrated such acumen and glee when it came to “the prospect of blowing something – _anything_ – up”. Poe considered it a gift. Others considered it an addiction.

Sadly, the administration likely wouldn’t be too pleased if he blew a hole through the entrance to the Slytherin Dungeon. So, he restrained himself.

“Boomslang! Runespoor! Ashwinder! Limax!” (He wasn’t even sure if that counted as a snake.) “Filet of a Fenny Snake!”

Nothing.

“Please,” Poe groaned, as if the barrier would take pity on him and decide to admit a possible intruder just this once.

He set his bag next to the wall and slumped down beside it. Although blasting the barrier was undoubtedly a more exciting alternative, it was probably wiser to wait for help. Unfortunately, the castle was much emptier than usual, with most of the student having left on the first train going back to King’s Cross for Christmas.

After a miserably long wait, Poe was grateful to hear the echo of footsteps rounding the corner. The approaching student was not a fellow Slytherin as he had hoped but a welcomed face, nonetheless.

“Finn, Buddy!” he called out to the fifth-year Gryffindor. “What are you doing here?”

Finn stared down at him. He looked somewhat perplexed to find his friend camping out on the floor of the corridor near midnight, but not too surprised; he’d found Poe in far stranger circumstances before.

“What are you doing on the floor?” he asked. “And what were you screaming about… wait. Did you forget your password again?”

“Er… maybe,” Poe said. He didn’t stand for strict divisions between the houses by any means (Quidditch matches were an exception), but there was something ignominious about always having to ask his Gryffindor friends for the password. The password to the Slytherin dungeons was meant to be a secret kept within the house, but with Ben Solo’s habit of bellowing it whenever the barrier was stubborn made it hard to contain leaks.

“Figured,” Finn said. “Don’t you guys have a notice board or something to let people know when the password changes.”

“Yeah, but no one checks that,” Poe whined.

“No one.”

“Yeah. No one, or at least very few people.”

“That’s interesting, because if no one checks it, you’d think you’d find the whole of Slytherin house trapped out here like…”

“Okay, fine. _I_ didn’t check it this time. Happy?”

Finn chuckled and shook his head before turning to the barrier.

“Hmm,” he said. “I think Rey said she heard Ben use the password the other day…”

_They were probably sneaking in to bang each other_ , Poe wanted to add, but decided against gossiping. He’d heard that Ben Solo and Rey had gotten into the habit of meeting in the Slytherin dormitories for some “private” activities. Poe had been fortunate enough to be out of the dormitories during these times, but from what he’d heard, Ben’s Quieting Charm was too weak to conceal the noise…

“It’s some kind of serpent,” Finn said. “Something like a Basilisk or… a Selma?”

The stones began to rumble, shifting aside to reveal a staircase behind the wall.

“Thanks,” Poe said sheepishly. “I’ll pay you back for helping me out these pasts few times.”

“You don’t have to,” Finn replied. “Though something sweet from the trolley on the ride back home would be nice.” He hesitated before asking, “Are you going to sit with us on the train back?”

“I…” Poe wasn’t sure yet, but he’d know soon enough. “We’ll see. Thanks for the offer, I mean, I’d love to catch up with you, Rey, Paige, her sister, the whole gang… but I still don’t know for sure if Armitage is going home for the holidays. You know he… likes to keep to himself sometimes.” He felt guilty for depicting his boyfriend as a bitter misanthrope (even if it was true to some extent), but it was better than disclosing the full explanation.

“Sure,” Finn didn’t say anything else on the subject, though they both knew his opinion of Armitage could have been higher. “Well, I hope I’ll see you before the vacation. If not, say ‘hi’ to your dad for me.”

“Of course. Merry Christmas, Finn.”

“Merry Christmas to you too. Have a good night.”

With that, Poe descended the staircase. The stones grumbled as they moved back into place, closing the barrier behind him.

The Slytherin Common Room was nearly deserted, most of the students having taken the first train back home for the holidays. If not for the occasional meowing from one of the armchairs, Poe would have assumed the room was empty.

Armitage was seated before the chess set, waving his wand at a line of candles, muttering an inaudible incantation. Which each of his motions, the flame of the central candle died and rekindled itself. The same pattern was repeated by the adjacent candle, spreading down the line like fallen dominoes.

“You’re back late,” Armitage said, still focused on his spell.

“I had to make up the history of magic exam,” said Poe. Armitage’s orange tabby cat Millicent, who had been curled in her owner’s lap, leapt to the floor to weave between Poe’s legs. He smiled and reached down to stroke her fur. It was a relief that she’d finally warmed up to him. Their first few encounters had been ridden with hissing and painful scratches. “The one I missed when I was out after the Quidditch Match, remember?”

He waited for Armitage to begin interrogating him on the exam. Normally, Armitage didn’t concern himself with others’ academic performance; he had more than enough anxiety about his own exam scores as it was. Ever since the two had started dating, however, Armitage had deemed it his responsibility to make sure his boyfriend didn’t “soil his future” by slacking on his schoolwork.

But this time there was no lecture on work ethics, not even the questions about the exam’s difficulty. Armitage gave nothing but a silent nod. As annoying as his nagging often was, the lack of it was unsettling.

“What were you doing with those?” Poe asked, pointing to the candles.

“Protean charm,” Armitage replied. He frowned and straightened his posture. When he spoke again, his voice had regained his usual loftiness, laced with disdain to cover his unease. He was known at Hogwarts – infamous in some cases – for his aloof aura, a regal air that seemed discordant with his scrawny built and pallid appearance. “I’ve been practicing for my N.E.W.Ts. They say the Protean charm is on the Charms N.E.W.T. every year without fail.”

“Protean charm…” It sounded vaguely familiar, though Poe could not recall the details. “That’s… that’s the connecting one, right?”

“It links items, allowing for synchronization,” Armitage said, rolling his eyes as if he were explaining that London was a city in England. “I connected the candles such that if one goes out, the others shall do the same in succession, and the same rule applies for lighting. See.” He demonstrated the spell once more. “I was also able to link the chess set too. Watch. Pawn to A4.”

No sooner had the desired piece reached its spot did a pawn from the opposing team move forward two spaces. The other pieces then jumped to life, and the game unfolded as if two invisible opponents were at battle in the world’s fastest match of Wizard’s Chess. The pieces came to rest with a single white bishop set to capture the opposing team’s king.

“Impressive,” Poe said. “Do you know how to undo it?”

“What?” Armitage looked appalled by the mere thought of undoing his hard work.

“I mean, can you get the chess set back to normal? Or are you planning on using this to cheat in your next match against Connix?”

“Oh, of course there’s a counter charm,” Armitage said, waving the question away. “I’ll have the set back to normal before the end of the break. Besides, this would be a poor devise for cheating. The game finishes as soon as it’s begun, using the first move to develop the finest strategy, you see…”

“How do you know it’s the best strategy?” Poe asked with a smirk.

“Please, Dameron. You know I could beat you at this game half-drunk with my eyes closed.”

“Sounds like a fun challenge.” Poe hesitated. He lowered his voice, taking extra care to maintain a casual tone. He’d learned from experience that probing questions only made Armitage even more reluctant to voice his worries. “But we’ll have to hold off on it until after the break.”

Armitage straightened in his seat, flexing his fingers in his lap, his usual nervous gesture. He didn’t look at Poe, staring intently at the crackling fireplace instead.

“Evidently.” he said. “You’re taking the train home tomorrow, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, my dad would freak out otherwise,” Poe replied. “Are you going home?”

_Please say no_. He braced himself for the answer. Armitage had been undecided about his lodgings for the holidays. It was one of the few decisions that he always waited until the last minute to finalize. He’d been given more options than most students due to “extenuating circumstances”, as Professor Sloane had called it. The potions professor had even offered to let Armitage stay with her family until school was back in session, an alternative that Poe had tried to steer his partner towards.

“Of course, I am,” Armitage said, as if the question had never been up for debate. “My father is expecting me. It would be disrespectful for me not to return home for the break.”

Poe’s face fell. Armitage cut in, preempting the usual protests:

“Don’t give me that look, Dameron,” he snapped. “We’ve been over this, every time before the winter holiday, every time before classes end for the summer. I can handle myself in my own home around my own father perfectly fine.”

Armitage didn’t discuss his father often; he rarely discussed anything personal with anyone besides Poe, Professor Sloane and perhaps Mitaka and Phasma if he was in an unusually sociable mood. It wasn’t until their third year, when their status as tolerated peers had begun to shift closer to friendship, that Armitage had mentioned his father to Poe, and the subject had come up quite arbitrarily.

They’d been discussing Squibs. The concept of children born to wizarding parents who nonetheless lacked magical abilities had never occurred to Poe. As a Muggle-born himself, he found it particularly fascinating.

_“It’s like a backwards Muggle-born then,” he remembered saying._

_“I suppose you could put it like that,” Armitage hadn’t shown any discomfort towards the subject at first, so Poe had probed further._

_“So… how would someone know they were a Squib? Is there a test or…”_

_“Most wizards and witches show some signs of magic when they’re seven or younger.” Poe could still envision the way Armitage had paused there, his face contorting into a grimace as if he were about to reveal some kind of crime. “I was late. In fact, my father thought I could be a Squib at first.”_

_“Oh… so how did you find out you weren’t?” Poe had asked, too excited by the prospect of Armitage finally opening up to him to take note of the shifting mood._

Armitage’s immediate answer had been vague, yielding no information other than the fact that he was six-and-a-half when he first demonstrated magical capabilities, and his father had been “relieved”. He’d later disclosed in a separate conversation that the first signs of magic often came about in times of extreme emotions, and that some families could induce the emergence of their child’s abilities by evoking joy or distress. At that point, Poe had gathered enough facts about Brendol Hux to deduce that he hadn’t opted for the former.

Still, Poe had been uncertain, at first, whether it was his place to keep Armitage from his father. It had nothing to do with doubting his opinion of Brendol, but there was something deeply unsettling, sacrilegious even, about sabotaging any father-son relationship. But these reservations had become insignificant several Septembers ago, when Armitage had arrived at King’s Cross with marks that even his thick robes couldn’t cover up.

“What happened to Professor Sloane?” Poe was struggling to keep his voice down. It was too late at night to be shouting in the common room, and the last thing they needed was to attract a crowd. “I thought you were going to take her up on her invite this year…”

“ _Invite_ ,” Armitage scoffed. “It’s not an invite. It’s charity. I’m not much into the festivities, you know, but spending the whole holiday being a pity cause isn’t exactly the break I had in mind. I’m sure Professor Sloane understands.”

There were times when Armitage’s pride was admirable, or at least respectable. Other times, Poe found it beyond exasperating.

 “You could come home with me,” Poe half expected Armitage to burst into laughter at the suggestion but pursued it anyway. “My dad would love to meet you. You know, he always asks about that whenever I talk about you. This… this could work out.”

“Oh, that sounds just _wonderful_ ,” Armitage drawled out the final word. “I couldn’t think of a better way for me to break the news about our little love affair to my father than by running off to spend Christmas in a Muggle household. ‘Muggle-born boyfriend’. I don’t know which of those words he’ll despise more.”

“We’ll make it work. Come on. We’ve done some riskier things for much less important reasons before…”

Poe knew he’d lost but wasn’t about to back down. Armitage shook his head.

“You can be so hard to talk to, Dameron,” he said, giving Poe a long, hard look. “You’re impossible, really. You drive me mad, and maybe that’s why I can’t let anything happen to you. The last thing I need is for my father to link you and your family to my ‘corruption’.” He extinguished the candles with a flick of his wand, leaving small lines of smoke trailing towards the ceiling. “And sick as it sounds, so long as he gives a damn about me, he’s going to make that connection, and I don’t want to risk him or his friends reacting violently.”

“Then you should understand why I can’t just let you go back there knowing there’s another option,” Poe said bitterly, “Knowing what happens when you do…”

As expected, this did nothing against Armitage’s resolve, but his eyes softened, and that was something at least.

“I do understand,” Armitage said. “Your concern… I… I do, appreciate it, Dameron, but it doesn’t change anything in the end.”

He strode to where Poe was seated. The armchair was not quite big enough for both of them, but they made do, Armitage leaning into Poe’s lap, stabilized by an arm around his waist. He didn’t normally seek physical contact, and when he did, it was oftentimes intended as either a distraction or an apology.

“In the end, none of this will matter,” he went on. “We’re both legal adults now. I just need to find a stable job for myself, gather enough resources to live comfortably on my own. Afterwards, whatever mistakes I make will fall on me, not my father, and I figure he’ll stop caring once his reputation isn’t at stake, once his political career isn’t at stake. Maybe I can find something in the ministry that has nothing to do with law enforcement, so I really won’t have to deal with him. Then, _we_ can work from there.” He gave a weak smile. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“And until then?” Poe already knew the answer.

“Be patient and stop worrying about me.”

“You do realize, that’d be a pretty lousy thing for me to do.”

“I know, Dameron.” Armitage said with extra finality. He leaned further into Poe. “Now, were you really planning on spending the whole night arguing about my father, or do you have a better good-bye in mind?” His lips brushed against Poe’s neck. “Aren’t you going to miss me during the holiday?”

Poe wasn’t one to leave dire matters unfinished. He hated the lack of closure, the ongoing uncertainty. But he also knew when an argument was going nowhere. Their hands were tied, and the best he could do for Armitage was to give him some sense of a sanctuary.

“Of course,” Poe said, pulling his boyfriend closer for a kiss. Armitage’s lips were cold and tasted of sweet afternotes.

They drew back, hearts racing. Armitage cast a nervous glance at the entrance to the common room.

“We should find somewhere more private,” he murmured.

“Mmm… well, Nix and Bascus are gone already for the break, so my room is open…” Poe nodded at Armitage’s prefect badge. “But I hear the prefects have bigger beds…”

It was long past midnight, when the two rested, tangled in the sheets of Armitage’s four poster bed, robes strewn around the otherwise pristine room. Poe gazed at the ceiling, letting the ecstasy fade away into the cold of night and the ambiguity of another day to come.

Armitage was curled up against him. Judging by the sounds of his quick breathing and hammering heartbeat, he was not yet asleep but content to keep up the pretense. Poe held him fast till morning.


	2. Prelude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all. Thank you to everyone who left comments and/or kudos. I really appreciate the feedback and enjoy reading your thoughts on the story.
> 
> There is relatively more fluff in the first portion of this chapter, though it dies out by the end. I just wanted to get some cute owls in before the darkness settles back.
> 
> Anyway. I hope you enjoy reading this!

The Hogwarts Express gave a final whistle, the last warning before the train’s departure, as Armitage and Poe clambered on board. Armitage took several deep breaths, trying to calm himself. His heart was still racing from the unwelcome realization that they’d both overslept by nearly two hours.

The most probable explanation was that they were recovering from the many all-nighters during the exam week. Still, Armitage couldn’t help but think that Poe had actually awoken at the proper time but _chosen_ to let them oversleep. It was a dubious conspiracy theory, given how eager Poe was to see his father again after the long semester, it was unlikely that he’d elect to remain at the castle for the holidays.

But perhaps, he had thought by some harebrained reasoning that accidentally missing the train was the best way to keep Armitage from returning home. Poe had done some pretty ridiculous things in the past, mistaking foolishness for heroism, especially where his boyfriend was concerned. (It was that streak of pigheaded bravery which made Armitage wonder why Poe hadn’t been sorted into Gryffindor, though both he and the entire Slytherin Quidditch team were grateful he hadn’t.)

“Hurry up before all the seats are gone,” Armitage nagged, beckoning at his boyfriend with his free hand. The other hand was clutching Millicent, whose preferred mode of travel was hidden within her owner’s robes.

“I’m coming!” Poe said, struggling to lug his own suitcase and Beebee’s cage down the aisle. The tawny owl was hooting in annoyance, displeased by the bumpy ride and oddly loquacious for a nocturnal bird at midday.

“You really ought to get either a smaller suitcase or a smaller owl,” Armitage said. “Next time we’re at Diagon Alley, I’m getting you a proper suitcase. One that’s more compatible with an extension charm.”

“Well, until we get that, can you help me out a bit?”

“My hands are a little full.”

“Okay, okay. How about you go ahead and find us a seat. I’ll catch up.”

“If there are any seats left…”

“Don’t be such a downer. Worst comes to worse, I’m sure someone can conjure up another compartment or something…”

“For the last time, Poe, that is not how magic works and you should know this after studying it for almost seven years…”

In reality, the train was actually less crowded than Armitage had expected, most of the students having gone back on the earlier ride. The problem was not so much finding a seat but finding one with people he could stand being confined with for the next two hours. He wasn’t in the mood to endure the company of the Pureblood cliques or insufferable first years. He had hoped to be able to find a compartment alone with Poe. Unfortunately, it seemed that their peers had had similar plans and spread themselves out such that there were no empty compartments.

After a long search, Armitage found a compartment near the end of the train. By the looks of it, only one of the benches was occupied. Someone had left their suitcase behind along with an expensive-looking calligraphy set. There was no name tag, but considering the company was certainly worse in the other compartments, Armitage decided to take his chances. He set Millicent down with his own bags on the other seat before going back for Poe.

“Still struggling with that owl of yours?” he called to Poe, who had succeeded in moving his baggage a full three feet thus far.

“Don’t call Beebee ‘that owl’,” Poe said. The owl shook out his feathers as if to express his affront. “He doesn’t like that.”

“Sir Owl than,” Armitage grumbled, taking Poe’s suitcase. “Whatever he wants to be called, I hope he quiets down for the rest of the ride. Shouldn’t he be sleeping?”

“I dunno, he’s on a weird owl schedule. Did you find a place for us to sit?”

“I found a compartment with two free seats. Someone else is sitting on the other bench. I don’t know who. Let’s just hope it isn’t a banshee.”

He slid the compartment door open and stopped dead in his tracks. Ben Solo was looming over the calligraphy set, which Millicent had made into a bed. Suddenly, a banshee didn’t seem like such a bad travel companion.

“Your cat is…” Armitage scooped up Millicent before Ben could finish his sentence.

“Leaving,” Armitage said. “We’re all leaving. We didn’t know you were here. Honest mista-”

“Hi, Poe!”

Armitage whipped around to see Rey Niima coming down the aisle, rolling a suitcase with another cage on top of it. Inside the cage was a tiny owl with bulging eyes.

“Rey! Long time no see!” Poe exclaimed, hugging his friend. “I didn’t know you got an owl!”

“His name is Porg,” Rey replied. She nodded towards Ben. “Ben surprised me with him for Christmas. She glanced at Armitage. “Oh, hi, Armitage. Are you two going to sit with us?”

Ben and Armitage gaped at her in horror.

“It’s too crowded with all the animals,” Ben said.

“ _Loud_ animals,” Armitage added.

“And weren’t Finn, Paige and Rose already sitting there?” said Ben.

“They moved further down the train because you were scaring Rose with your shrunken head!” Rey said, glaring at him as she sat down next to the calligraphy set. She beckoned at Poe and Armitage to come in. “There’s room. You can stay here!”

Before Armitage could protest, Poe grabbed his hand and dragged him into the compartment. The train whistled again, signaling for the students to be seated. It was too late to find another seat now. All Armitage could do now was grit his teeth and brace himself for the long ride.

He imagined Poe couldn’t have been too delighted with the seating arrangement either. After the last Quidditch Match, Poe and Ben hadn’t been on speaking terms. The argument had arisen after the Slytherin team risked a fatal penalty due to Ben’s “aggressive” technique. (Even the Slytherins couldn’t be too angry at the referee over this judgment. Ben had a habit of nearly knocking people off their broomsticks in his attempts to catch the Snitch.) As the team’s captain, Poe had felt obligated to have a talk with Ben about the incident, only to find the latter closed to criticism and conversation with humankind in general.

“Keep your cat off my stuff, Hux,” Ben said. “This is a brand-new calligraphy set.”

“Believe me, I’d rather keep Millie away from your filthy belongings,” Armitage snapped.

Rey and Poe exchanged worried looks as the train began to move. After a few tense beats of silence, Poe forced a smile, leaned back with an arm around his boyfriend and threw out what he hoped was an innocent conversation-starter:

“So, what’s this about scaring little girls with shrunken heads?”

 

The food trolley made its rounds halfway through the ride. Armitage stayed behind in the compartment while the others ventured out into the aisle, impatient for the trolley to reach the end of the train. He’d finished a light lunch a little earlier and though he wasn’t quite satisfied, he couldn’t stomach anything at the moment.

His return trips from Hogwarts had always been characterized by periods of lingering anxiety during the later part of the ride, a steady rise in adrenaline as if an invisible beast were behind him, poised for the chase. Of course, it was all irrational. There was nothing to run from. More importantly, there was nowhere to run to.

Poe returned a short while later, carrying two bottles of iced pumpkin juice and several chocolate frogs.

“Drink,” he said, pushing a bottle of juice towards Armitage.

“I told you I didn’t want anything,” Armitage said, staring at the orange liquid as if he’d just been asked to drink rat’s blood.

“I know you don’t,” Poe said. “But you should at least drink something. Stay hydrated. Come on, you’re looking pasty… pastier than usual that is.” The last remark earned him an elbow in the ribs.

“What happened to Rey and Ben?” Armitage asked, taking a reluctant sip from the bottle.

“Rey wanted to stay back and chat with Finn a little,” Poe said. “Ben… well, Ben didn’t really want to chat, of course, but I guess he decided he’d rather sulk in the aisle and wait for her instead of coming back and sulking here with us. At any rate, it gives us some time to ourselves.”

Armitage nodded in approval. He’d been waiting for a chance to give Poe his Christmas gift before they arrived at the station. Originally, the plan had been to exchange gifts the night before, but after the argument, the two of them had been too exhausted for anything but sloppy lovemaking and attempted sleep.

“Here,” he said, handing Poe a silver box. Armitage had never been one for long, sappy speeches. “This is for you. Merry Christmas.”

“Aww, Tage…” Poe tore open the wrapping and drew out a tiny orb on a metallic chain. Inside the orb was a whirling snowstorm. Had he not learned from years in the wizarding world to pay more attention to the details of magic, he would have mistaken the ornament for an ordinary snow globe. A closer look revealed a miniature Quidditch arena caught in the snowstorm, complete with miniscule players zipping around on broomsticks in green and blue uniforms. “Wow. This is neat.”

“I found it in Diagon Alley,” said Armitage. “It’s like a pensieve, but more limited. It can store a single memory which it then repeats. I thought that the Slytherin-Ravenclaw Quidditch game in our third year would be suitable.”

“That was the first time you saw me playing, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, and I don’t know what possessed me to go out in that miserable weather.” Armitage shuddered at the thought. “Everyone else was flying cautiously that day, except for you, and I remember thinking that you must have had some skill, saying that you didn’t get yourself decapitated after everything…”

“And I also won the game. Score was 360 to 60. The Snitch didn’t even matter in the end.” Poe folded the paper over the fragile gift and placed it carefully with the rest of his belongings. “But this is just beautiful, Tage. I love it. I got something for you too…”

He pulled a wad of wrapping paper from his bag. Armitage couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the wrapping, which looked suspiciously like old copies of the _Daily Prophet_ crumpled together with a bow on top. Nonetheless, he opened it carefully. Inside was a tea kettle no taller than an inch.

“It’s charmed,” Poe explained. “Uses less than a quarter of the tea leaves and pours a regular sized cup with just as much strength. I thought you could use it for that bitter tea you like… what is it, er…”

“Tarine tea,” Armitage answered. “This will be good for my study sessions. Thank you. You really didn’t have to get anything.”

“Well, neither did you,” Poe said.

He gave Armitage a peck on the cheek and dragged the skinnier boy closer. Until recently, Armitage would have squirmed away from any attempt at an embrace. It wasn’t simply a phobia of physical contact. By the time he’d entered Hogwarts, he’d been trained to face even the most vicious blows with no more than a reflexive flinch. It hadn’t taken him long to learn, in a purely factual sense, that Poe intended no such harm. Perhaps it was exactly that, the unfamiliar prospect of touch being used for anything _but_ hurt, which had made Armitage averse to even the slightest affectionate gesture.

It still felt foreign to him. Nevertheless, he had grown more receptive to Poe’s touch with time, something he would have thought impossible years ago. There were a lot of things about Poe that were impossible.

“You look upset,” Poe said, as if the statement was a question rather than a fact. “You know, Rey and Ben asked me if you were okay.”

“Ben too?” Armitage sounded skeptical.

“Yeah, Ben too. He can be a real brute sometimes, but he’s got a heart if you strip away all the grouchiness.” Poe glanced at the door to the compartment, as if he were worried that Ben was eavesdropping outside.

“At least, I’d hope he has a heart, for Rey’s sake,” he added with a chuckle.

Armitage scowled. He could bear with gossip and rumors, but the sympathetic stares and concerned voices were another matter entirely. The thought of his peers whispering about how he needed help, telling stories about a cowering, battered boy that were sometimes too close to the truth for comfort, was beyond humiliating.

“They don’t need to worry and neither should you,” Armitage said. He ducked out of Poe’s arms, giving the later an icy look of warning. “I thought we were done with this last night.”

“I know, I know,” said Poe. “I’m not trying to argue with you, but… but my offer still stands if you change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

“You do know where I live if you need to apparate there, don’t you? I showed you pictures.”

“Yes, I remember. I even remember the bloody address. 2248 Republic Avenue. Happy?”

Before Poe could reply, the compartment door slid open. Ben stalked inside, followed by Rey who was examining a turquoise Every-Flavor Bean warily.

“Are we… interrupting something?” Ben questioned.

“No,” Armitage answered first. “Everything is fine.”

 

“Take good care of her,” Armitage said, placing Millicent into Poe’s arms.

He was going to miss the cat over the break. Millicent had been a gift from Professor Sloane. She was supposedly a therapy cat, though her irritable temperament made Armitage a little doubtful. In practice, he thought of her more as a pet. He didn’t see any need for therapy in the first place. Past interventions into his personal life had done nothing but exacerbate the situation.

The problem with Millicent being a gift from the school was that his father knew nothing of her existence, and Armitage knew Brendol wouldn’t take well to his son’s feline companion. Brendol had made it clear he didn’t welcome anything or anyone he considered to be “subhuman”. In other words, Armitage wasn’t to be caught with any animals, house elves, other non-human hominids, “Mudbloods”, or “Blood Traitors”.

Fortunately, Poe had volunteered to take Millicent home over breaks. The two had had a rocky start last summer, but they had later learned to bear and occasionally enjoy each other’s company. Furthermore, the _Capillus_ charm had worked wonders to keep her hair from aggravating Kes Dameron’s allergies.

“We’ll have a nice winter vacation, won’t we,” Poe cooed. Millicent didn’t seem convinced but made no struggle besides a few disgruntled yowls.

The train pulled to a stop into the station, which was crowded with families. The aisle flooded with students, scrambling to lug bags and cages onto the platform. The hoots of owls who had been rudely awakened by the commotion resounded through the train. Beebee joined in with a long howl-like call.

“You’ll be alright with your luggage,” Armitage asked. He felt a little guilty for not helping, but he knew Poe understood. They were no longer within the safety of Hogwarts.

“Yeah, I think Rey said she and Ben could help me get them off the train,” Poe replied.

“Good.” Armitage lowered his eyes, sighed and said, “Well, I hope you have a pleasant holiday, Poe.”

“You take care of yourself, Tage.” It wasn’t a particularly joyful holiday wish, but it was the best they could hope for.

“I always do.” After a quick look around to assure that they were out of view from the windows, Armitage leaned down for a parting kiss. It was brief, warm on the edges but too weak to comfort either of them.

“I’ll go out the back,” Armitage said. They both knew the procedure. They never left the train together, a simple precaution in case Brendol happened to be watching from the platform. “You take care of yourself too.”

With that, he turned on his heels and strode off to the front of the train. He knew Poe would try to draw out every goodbye till it was too late for anyone to leave if he had a choice. But Armitage had a home to return to, whether it felt like one or not.

No sooner had he stepped off the platform did he hear a sharp voice calling him:

“Armitage!”

Weaving through the mob of chattering families, Armitage found his father standing away from the crowd. Brendol Hux was impeccably dressed as always in the grey robes he always wore to the Ministry. His hands were folded behind his back, his right foot tapping the ground. Armitage had unwittingly adopted both impatient habits; he always loathed recognizing his own mannerisms in his father.

“Good evening, father.”

Armitage could feel his nerves squirm under his father’s scrutinizing eyes. Brendol looked down at his son, as if to verify the discipline he’d drilled in was still intact. The shadow of a smile spread across his face, the kind that never reached his eyes.

“Your train is late,” he remarked.

“It is. I’m sorry you had to wait,” Armitage apologized, as if he were somehow responsible for the train’s tardiness.

“Indeed.” Brendol regarded the commotion on the platform with disdain. “No need to stay here longer than we already have. Come. Let’s go home.”

Armitage gave the crowd one last glance before closing his eyes and focusing his thoughts on his destination. He disapparated alongside his father with ease. Apparition had always been Brendol’s preferred form of travel, an opinion which he claimed was shared by any respectable witch or wizard. Indeed, the two of them had only entered Platform 9 ¾ through the barrier at King’s Cross Station while Armitage was too inexperienced with magic for safe apparition.

He had learned the spell during the summer before his fourth year, long before his peers, under his father’s private instruction. It wasn’t unusual for Pure-Blood families to teach apparition earlier than the standard school curriculum, often to avoid “Muggle-infested” public venues. Consequently, their children were regarded as protégés, further proof of the intellectual benefits of an untarnished bloodline.

When he opened his eyes, Armitage found himself in a dim foyer with a cathedral ceiling. The Hux family had passed the home down countless generations, something Armitage figured had given his ancestors an illusion of imperial status. It certainly wasn’t a tradition he intended on keeping, though he sometimes amused himself with the idea of Poe carrying him over the threshold some thirty years in the future, while Brendol and thirty generations of Pure-Blood ancestors turned in their graves.

The house wasn’t large enough to be called a mansion. Still, it was commodious enough to instill a feeling of solitude. Armitage doubted it was meant to be occupied by only two people, but it had been that way ever since the death of Maratelle Hux, Brendol’s wife (and Armitage’s legal mother, though she had never treated him like one).

“Now, we can have some peace and quiet at last,” Brendol said. He illuminated the candles in the foyer with a flick of his wand. “That platform is horrific. Must be all the unruly Muggles.”

“Muggles?” Armitage wrinkled his nose.

“Yes. You see, it used to be that all the Blood Traitors still had the decency to keep their filth at home. And the swine would just send their Mudblood brats across the barrier alone. Of course, there were also fewer of them when I attended the school. There was a quota back then, though a ban would have been better. Now, the school is swarming with them. It’s gotten worse since your first year. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“It’s worse in the other houses. Relatively speaking, I think Slytherin has a smaller problem with Mudbloods.” The last word tasted like bile. Armitage gave a silent apology to Poe and Rey.

“I only wish you could have attended the school a generation ago,” Brendol said. He gave a wistful sigh. When he spoke again, his voice bore an unusual note of pride. “I received your letter concerning your most recent exam grades. Straight marks in everything but Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“I… had difficulty with the Patronus Charm,” Armitage confessed. “But I’ve been practicing it extensively since. I promise I will be more than proficient at it by the time I take my N.E.W.Ts.”

“Even then, your grades in Defense Against the Dark Arts are far above the average. So long as you perform well on your N.E.W.Ts, you should be in good standing for a paid attachment in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement this coming summer.”

“I…” Armitage wasn’t quite sure how to respond. His typical discussions with his father concerning his academic performance boiled down to a firm reminder not to faulter accompanied by a long list of _or else_ ’s. Never before had his father tried to reassure him of his schoolwork. “I hope so, father.”

“Your applications are settled?”

“Yes, father. I submitted two of them last month. The others won’t be released until the spring.”

“Good…” Brendol looked down at his son and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Everything appears to be in order. If all goes according to plan, you should have a bright career ahead of you…”

“I hope so, father.”

“You understand then, how foolish you’d be to squander it all?”

Armitage felt his blood run cold.

“Yes,” he said at length. “I’m sorry, father. I don’t think I understand what you mean. I’ve never…”

“We’ll continue this conversation later this evening,” Brendol cut him off. “I’d like to send the kitchen staff home before it gets too late. Go bring your luggage to your room and wash your hands for dinner.”

“I…” The look Armitage received from his father precluded any thoughts of arguing. “Yes, father.”

He hurried upstairs to his bedroom, dropped his suitcase on the floor like a weight of pure lead, and shut the door. His hands were trembling by the time he made it to the washbasin. He tried to tell himself that this was all paranoia, that his father probably just wanted to lecture him about some of his lower grades after all.

But sometimes, paranoia was justified. Brendol was not arbitrary with his punishments. At least, he didn’t consider them arbitrary. They were lessons in the end. Some lessons had to be painful to be effective, but pain was useless without proper reasoning. So, every beating was preceded by an explanation. How else was Armitage supposed to learn?

Armitage was caught in the prelude now, and this time, he had even more to worry about than bruises.


	3. Wounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to the people who left kudos and comments. Hope you like this next chapter!

“Are you sure we shouldn’t just take out?”

“No, Dad. This is great.”

Poe sank his fork into a piece of extra-tough chicken, only to find that the metal wasn’t hard enough to penetrate the meat. Dinner tonight was taking a lot more effort to eat than usual. In the end, he resolved to sawing away at the meat with his knife and scooping up the crisps. Kes Dameron watched dolefully from across the table.

“That’s it,” he said, tired of seeing his son battle with the ruined dinner. “I’m ordering in from somewhere. What do you want?”

“Nothing, really,” Poe insisted, reluctant to give up on his father’s well-intentioned Welcome Home dinner. “This is fine. Maybe the chicken got a little overcooked, but the soup’s pretty good.”

“That’s the last time I’m trying to roast the entire bird like that,” Kes said. He had become quite a competent cook for a man who didn’t know how to operate a microwave until his junior year of college – being a single father hadn’t left him another option – but experimental dishes never went well. “It’s so much easier to cook the pieces that are already chopped up. But I thought this would look nicer…”

“And it does,” Poe replied, nodding approvingly at the very blackened chicken.

“Probably a downgrade from what you get at school.”

“Hey. Cut yourself some slack. They have a whole army of elves in the kitchen at Hogwarts. You can’t compete with that.”

“Elves?”

“House elves…” Poe explained. There were times when he forgot that his father had had very little exposure to the wizarding world beyond shopping for school supplies in Diagon Alley. Poe still remembered the chaos that had ensued when the owl carrying his acceptance letter snuck inside through an open window. “They’re these little guys who–”

He was interrupted by a faint knock at the door. He exchanged puzzled looks with his father.

“Probably a salesman or something,” Kes said. “You know those secondary school kids have been canvasing pretty late in the evening.”

Another three knocks resounded through the house, sharper this time, with a new note of urgency. There was undoubtedly someone at the door. Poe tried to think of who could be visiting at such an hour. Only one possibility came to mind, an unlikely possibility, but the sliver of a chance was enough to make Poe hurry to the door.

“Are you expecting someone?” his father called after him.

“Maybe?” was the best response Poe could come up with. He had never fully laid out the situation with Armitage for his father. All Kes knew was that Poe had a boyfriend who was introverted and overscheduled for the summer, and therefore, they had never met, which was part of the truth. It would have been impossible to explain to Kes, who was just as idealistic about the legal system as his son, that a case of child abuse to which multiple professors were privy had only been reported once to no avail and left alone since then. Poe couldn’t risk his father attempting anything that would only hurt both the family and Armitage in the long run.

As he stepped into the foyer, Poe felt a wave of dread course through his veins. Suddenly, the odds that something terrible had happened felt inexplicably higher.

His worst fears were confirmed when he opened the door to find Armitage, shivering from the cold, with dark lines of blood dripping from his arm onto the snow.

“Poe,” Armitage choked out the name. He bowed his head, as if in shame, and wrapped his arms tighter around himself. He had no coat, not even his school robes. Instead, he was wearing only a thin sweater to protect his slight frame from the blistering cold.

“Armitage!” Poe herded his partner inside and slammed the door shut behind them. “What happened?! What did he do to you? Oh, my God.” His eyes drifted to the bloodstains. To his horror, a long slash ran up Armitage’s arm to his shoulder. “Did he do this to you?” His blood boiled at the thought.

“No… n-no…” Armitage croaked. “I… I was stupid… and s-splinched myself when I apparated here.”

“Why did…” Poe halted mid-question. He could ask for the details later. Right now, he needed to gather himself and make sure Armitage didn’t freeze or bleed to death. “Alright. Come here.” He led Armitage to the sofa in the sitting room, which was blessedly close to the entrance. He pulled his own sweatshirt over his head and tried to put it on Armitage. The latter hissed in pain. “It’s gonna be okay. I’ll get medicine or bandages or… something. You just rest. I’ll be…”

“What’s going on?!”

Kes was frozen in the entrance to the sitting room, mortified by the scene before him.

“Who…” he started to ask.

“Armitage,” Poe answered. “He’s hurt.”

Kes crossed over to the couch. Armitage seemed to shrink at his approach.

“My God,” Kes gasped. “You’re bleeding…”

“I know, he is,” Poe said. “I’m going to get a blanket and bandage…”

“Bandages?!” Kes exclaimed. “Poe, he needs to go to the hospital!”

Armitage shook his head vehemently. He looked to Poe with pleading eyes.

“I don’t need a hospital,” he said. “Do… do you have a clotting potion? Unless you know a healing charm?”

Poe did not know a healing charm, nor did he have any potions in the medicine cabinet upstairs. The thought of treating the gaping cut with bandages and a limited first-aid kit was sounding more absurd the more he thought about it.

“We don’t,” Poe said. “My dad’s right. We’ll take you to the hospital. It’s a short drive. It’ll be okay.”

Armitage glanced at the door but made no attempt to run. They both knew it would be nothing short of suicidal to go back outside.

“Do you need help walking?” Kes offered, extending a hand to Armitage, who recoiled away from it. “We can help you to the car. It’ll be faster than calling an ambulance.”

“N-no thank you,” Armitage stammered. “I… I’ll be fine. I just need to rest… get my head together enough to do the charm myself.”

“No,” Poe said. “That will take too long. You’re going to the hospital.”

“The hospital won’t help!” Armitage cried.

“You don’t know. You’ve never been to one,” Poe told him. He was standing next to the couch, ready to carry Armitage to the car, kicking and screaming, if necessary. The latter shrank away from him. Poe despised the feeling of intimidation, but he refused to let Armitage’s stubbornness be the death of him. “We’re going.”

“No.” Armitage’s trembling hand reached for his wand, but Poe was faster.

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

Armitage watched helplessly as his wand flew out of his hand, landing on the carpet where Poe snatched it up. Before he could voice any further dissension, a blue bolt of light knocked him unconscious. He collapsed against the couch.

“What the hell was that?” Kes gaped at his son.

“Stunning spell,” Poe said, lowering his wand. He hoisted his partner’s limp onto his shoulder. Armitage was deadweight, but the surplus of adrenaline allowed Poe to carry him to the car. “It’s faster than arguing with him. He’ll be okay.”

He prayed that it would be so.

 

When Armitage awoke, the world was sliding past him. It reminded him vaguely of the few unpleasant experiences he’d had riding a broomstick. This was different though, and far more nerve-wracking when he realized he was trapped. He was in a dimly lit, enclosed space, held fast to his seat by a strap running down from his shoulder. He tried to struggle but stopped when his wound began to scream with every movement.

“Hey, shhh… it’s okay.”

Poe’s voice released a fraction of the tension, though Armitage remained dubious. The situation was at least well-intentioned if it was Poe’s plan, but given the way some of Poe’s previous plans had turned out, Armitage still didn’t like any of it. Regardless, this was certainly an improvement over being out in the cold. He was relieved to feel the warmth returning to his near-frostbitten hands and feet. The bleeding had also slowed to trickle, though the cut still throbbed.

“You’re okay,” Poe said, adjusting the heavy blanket he’d wrapped around Armitage. “We’re in the car now. That’s just a safety belt. It keeps you from getting thrown around if the car stops.”

“What you did back there was foul play,” Armitage murmured. He still felt groggy, though he couldn’t decide whether to place the blame on the stunning spell, blood loss or the fact that he’d been wandering in the frigid streets for what felt like hours before finding the correct house.

_And whose fault is that?_ a scornful voice berated him. Armitage pushed the thought away. He wouldn’t hear that voice again with things as they were now. For some inexplicable reason, the thought saddened him.

“Sorry,” said Poe. “I didn’t want to do it, but I was afraid what would happen if we waited to argue with you. The bleeding looked a lot worse then.”

“He’s awake?” another voice said from the seat in front of them, Poe’s father, Armitage assumed, Kes Dameron, if he was remembering names correctly.

“Yeah,” Poe said. “He’s awake.”

“You doing alright back there?” Kes asked.

It took Armitage a moment to realize that question was addressed to him.

“I… I’ll be fine,” he said. He wasn’t sure if that was a proper answer. For that matter, he didn’t know if there _was_ any way to speak politely to a man whose house you’d stumbled into unannounced. He’d never done anything so impulsive, so uncalled for in his life, but even now, he couldn’t conceive another option. “Thank you for… for letting me inside.”

“Don’t thank people for things they should be doing,” Kes replied. “We’ll be at the hospital soon.”

“The hospital?” Armitage repeated.

“Yeah, that’s where we’re going” Poe said. “It’ll be fine. Trust me. It’s just like going to the Hogwarts Infirmary. They’ll get you stitched up. They do it all the time. They did it for me a couple of times when I was a kid. It doesn’t even hurt much.”

“They stitched you?” Armitage said. He didn’t have much confidence in a place that specialized in sewing people. It seemed like a very crude method of healing compared to the complicated potions he’d been prescribed at the infirmary.

“Close up the wound, I mean,” Poe explained. “It’ll stop the bleeding for good. They’ll clean it up for you, and you’ll be out before you know it. For now, you just need to rest, save your strength.”

Armitage was still skeptical but decided to keep quiet. It didn’t look like he had another choice. Neither of them had enough experience with healing spells to safely treat the cut. If only he hadn’t been so careless when he disapparated…

He wondered what Brendol would think if he saw him now. At first, Armitage imagined outrage, but that was unrealistic. Outrage required a sense of attachment, and Brendol no longer cared. Maybe he never had; maybe he had only stopped today.

Armitage hoped the former was true. Continuity ached at times, but it didn’t sting like loss.


	4. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the comments, questions and kudos. They brighten my day. Hope you enjoy the next chapter!

The story was that Armitage had slipped on ice while returning from a walk and cut himself on the metal fence around the house. He had originally suggested that they tell the Muggle doctors, who had no knowledge of splicing or apparition, that the injury came from a car accident, as these seemed to be a leading source of injury from the limited media he’d been exposed to. However, Poe had informed him that car accidents were not taken lightly in Muggle society and reporting one would get the police involved.

Armitage wasn’t at all impressed by the Muggle hospital thus far. The nurse and receptionist had insisted on interrogating him with a slew of questions that were completely irrelevant to his injury. Fortunately, the questions had been straightforward enough for him to answer convincingly.

_His birthday was May 12, 2001. He lived with his partner’s family in Balham._ Eventually, they’d asked Poe to step out of the room and then questioned Armitage whether he’d been witness to or a victim of abuse. ( _He hadn’t._ )

The doctor had indeed resorted to sewing the wound, but only after rubbing it with a sort of cleaning solution that burned more than any kind of potion Armitage had ever used at home. She’d wanted to put a needle into his arm beforehand, a “local anesthetic” which he had declined, failing to see how another puncture wound would alleviate the pain.

Unfortunately, the medical team had then pestered him into having a different needle stuck into his _other_ arm, even after he’d told them there was nothing wrong with it. They claimed it was to protect him against bacteria from rusted metal. Armitage wasn’t sure whether to believe them or not. All he knew was that he’d gone into the hospital with one injured arm and had come out with two sore ones. This seemed like a dubious tradeoff, although he was grateful that the bleeding had stopped.

“The cut looks a lot better,” Poe remarked, gathering their belongings from the examination room. He handed Armitage’s wand back. The medical staff had forced him to put the wand (which Poe had identified as an unusual “good luck charm”) away when they sewed his arm, much to Armitage’s chagrin. He couldn’t help but feel vulnerable without it, though he wouldn’t dream of casting a spell around so many Muggles.

“I don’t know,” he said. “They stabbed a needle through my good arm.”

“Yeah, the nurse told me,” Poe said. “Tetanus vaccine. It’ll hurt for a while after, but it’ll get back to normal after that. You get it every ten years. It keeps you from getting sick from this type of bacteria if you get cut by rusted metal.”

“I heard.” Armitage rolled his eyes. “Where’s your father?”

“Probably in the waiting room,” Poe replied. “Out front.”

Armitage eyed the floor. He wasn’t sure what in the world he intended to say to Poe’s father. He didn’t even have any idea how to explain the mess at hand to Poe, much less someone he’d just met.

The whole day had been muddled with fear, deep hurts and uncertainty of the worst kind. At first, Armitage had just been grateful not to perish in the cold, a fate that had seemed grimly plausible until recently. Now, the immediate danger had passed, allowing the bitter facts to settle in.

“How much have you told him?” Armitage asked. He sounded weary, though rest was the last thing on his mind at the moment.

 “I… well, I filled him in on a few things during the ride.” Poe paused to steady his voice before continuing at a softer volume. “I told him why we can’t call your father when he asked.”

“What part of it?”

“A little of all of it. He… he has some vague ideas of Blood Purism from what I’ve told him at school, so he got that part about your father…”

_Did you also get to the part that he doesn’t want me to call him ‘Father’ anymore?_ Armitage thought to add but restrained himself. He would have to break the news to Poe eventually, as delicately as he could manage.

Kes was waiting for them in the lobby, seated on a bench. He was reading a magazine with a very still photograph of a herd of zebras. Armitage had never quite gotten used to the motionless photos on Muggle magazines. They felt dead, bland outlines of the subject they were meant to capture rather than true illustrations.

“Everything’s fine?” Kes asked, rising from his seat. “The bleeding’s stopped?”

“Yes,” Poe replied. “No complications. Doctor said to be careful with the stitches, but we’re good to go.”

“Thank God,” Kes said. He turned to Armitage and frowned. “Do you have a coat? I don’t want you freezing up again.”

Armitage hesitated before replying with a tentative, “No, sir.”

“He can take mine,” Poe offered. “I’ve got more layers on underneath.”

Armitage soon found that Poe’s coat was too small for him one way and too broad the other, but he wasn’t about to complain. They exited the lobby and walked into a black stretch of pavement full of vehicles in neat rows. Armitage crawled into the back of the car, crouching to avoid hitting his head. Poe climbed in after him, giving a gentle reminder to fasten his safety belt.

Armitage was skeptical of how much protection a skinny strap of metal could provide. Thus far, he’d only ridden a Muggle car once in his life and hadn’t enjoyed the experience in the least. In comparison to smooth momentum of the Hogwarts Express, the car was volatile, jumping forward after intermittent stops, crossing uneasily over bumps in the road. He closed his eyes as the vehicle pulled away from the hospital, hoping that he wouldn’t be too nauseous.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a while now, Armitage,” Kes said, once the car settled on a steady speed. “You’re all Poe talks about when I ask him about school… besides that broomstick sport, that is… Quidditch, I think that’s what you call it. He told me you’re a star student, the valedictorian?”

Armitage had never heard of a valedictorian. He glanced at Poe, a silent request for a mediator.

“In other words, you’re the top student in the school,” Poe filled in. “It’s what they call the top student in American Muggle schools.”

“Oh,” Armitage hesitated. “I… thank you. I try to do well in my studies.”

It didn’t sound like a proper introduction. Of course, rushing to the hospital wasn’t part of the usual niceties either.

“Well, it sounds like you’ve been successful.” Kes chuckled. “I’m still hoping some of your work ethic will rub off on Poe before the school year’s done.”

Armitage managed an inkling of a smile, wringing his hands as he tried to articulate a reply. They were waiting for him, waiting to see if he would dip his toe into the real questions. He considered taking the plunge. It would have been easier, if a little tactless, to pour out the facts, gruesome details and all. But he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

“Thank you for… for taking me to the hospital.” It was an unsatisfactory response, a _coward_ ’s response. Brendol had long regarded him as a coward, a boy scrambling for merits to hide behind. Maybe he’d been right.

“No need to thank us for any of that,” Poe said, echoing his father’s words. Armitage was beginning to see the resemblance between them in more ways than looks. “It was the only decent thing to do.”

The car rounded a corner, turning into another street, lined with houses. Armitage recognized the stretch, having apparated there first by mistake. He shuddered, remembering the biting cold.

“Poe explained your situation during the ride to the hospital,” Kes said at length. He paused for a response but received none. “You are welcome to stay with us, unless there is somewhere else, somewhere safe, you would prefer to be.”

“I don’t.” Armitage felt the words tighten in the back of his throat. “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

Reality descended on him, but he drew back before it could hit. He’d learned long ago to distance himself before he could be overwhelmed. The skill had served him well. It had saved him from the embarrassment of crying in front of the older students who called him a “freak” when his secret broke lose. It had dulled the beatings so he could keep from sobbing as his skin frayed and his bones broke.

It wasn’t bravery. It wasn’t strength. It had kept him from drowning but was bound to give way in time. Armitage didn’t know when, and for once, he refused to think of the future.

“Yeah, you do.”

Poe broke the silence. He had moved to the middle seat beside Armitage, close enough to wrap an arm around and draw them both together.

“You do have somewhere to be,” he said. “You always will. I promise.”

Armitage folded his hand over Poe’s and shook his head, not in denial but in doubt. Poe made many promises, a great portion of which were outside his power to keep. Armitage had no reason to believe in this one.

Still, it was a promise and that had to count for something.


	5. Familiarity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to all who left kudos and for the kind comments. Hope you enjoy this next chapter. Sorry if it's a little slow. It'll get more eventful soon. I promise.

“You can have the whole room to yourself,” Poe said as he ushered Armitage into the guest bedroom. “It’s pretty spacious, bigger than mine, actually.”

“Hmm,” Armitage hummed in acknowledgment. His eyes darted around the room, taking in his new lodgings with the wariness of a wild animal placed in a zoo enclosure. He seemed overwhelmed by unfamiliar objects, unable to decide which was worthiest of suspicion.

“The lights are here,” said Poe, flipping the light switch on and off to demonstrate. “That’s for the whole room. And this…” He crossed to the bedside table and turned on the lamp. “This is for just around the bed, in case you want to read or study late at night… It’s all electrical lighting. Honestly, it’s easier to use than candles.”

Armitage didn’t appear impressed by electrical lighting. If anything, he looked even more worried than before.

“What’s wrong?” Poe asked, prepared for any of the numerous answers.

“I can’t study,” Armitage said. “I don’t… I don’t have any of my books.”

_Really, Armitage. Just a couple of hours ago, you were bleeding and freezing to death. Now that’s settled, and you’re already back to thinking of your N.E.W.Ts?_ Poe had to admire the commitment.

“I’ll take you to Diagon Alley tomorrow if you’re well enough,” he said. “You can get new ones…”

Armitage shook his head.

“No, I can’t.” His words came out harsh and ragged, whether from the aftermath of the cold or a faltering effort to hold back tears, Poe couldn’t tell. “I don’t have any money with me. I… I barely have anything in my vault.”

Poe’s reply was preempted by a soft meow in the doorway. Millicent trotted into the bedroom, weaving around Armitage’s legs.

“She’s happy to see you,” Poe remarked with a light laugh. Armitage gave the slightest twinge of a smile and reached down to stroke the cat. “Listen. I can buy the books for you if we need to…”

“That’s too much money,” Armitage said. They both knew he was right. Between the two of them, Armitage was, or at least he had been, the wealthier one. Brendol’s position in the Ministry more than tripled any technician job Kes could find, though Armitage had mentioned that most of the Hux family’s wealth came from generations of accumulated inheritance.

“We’ll make it work,” Poe said firmly. “But don’t worry about that now. You need to rest. You probably want to shower before bed, don’t you? The bathroom’s right next door. Here. I’ll show you how to adjust the faucet…”

“We have faucets in the wizarding world,” Armitage cut in.

“Oh, yeah… that’s right,” Poe chuckles. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to talk down to you. Well… the towels are in the closet. Shampoo, soap and everything’s in there. If you need anything, just yell. Alright?”

“Alright.”

Poe was halfway down the staircase when his father beckoned him into the sitting room. Kes had been exceptionally composed throughout the chaotic evening, but he could only go so long without an explanation, and Poe couldn’t have possibly given a thorough one in the midst of the earlier chaos.

Beebee was perched on top of a lamp. He’d been rather quiet beyond the a few soft, quizzical hoots. Perhaps he could sense the gravity of the situation. Poe often felt that owls were unusually perceptive birds, more than some people perhaps.

Father and son sat down on either side of the coffee table. Kes gathered himself and said, in the steadiest tone he could manage:

“I still think we should call the authorities.”

“I told you: _we can’t do that_.”

Poe had known the argument was inevitable. He’d had heated disagreements with his father before, of course, but never concerning such reprehensible matters. Furthermore, in all their previous rows, he’d always held firm to his own beliefs. This time, Poe couldn’t have agreed less with the position he was about to defend. Armitage’s predicament had always been a matter of reality versus idealism, and Poe had always struggled to accept the former.

“I don’t think the Muggle police would even be able to find his father if they tried,” said Poe. “And even if they did, he’d weasel his way out of it in an instant. There are spells, memory charms… all kinds of things that could make the police forget they even came to investigate. Or worse.” He considered elaborating on the violence Brendol Hux was no doubt capable (and likely willing) to inflict on meddling Muggles but decided against it. “At any rate, it wouldn’t do any good.”

“Well, use your wizard authorities then!” Kes was not about to admit defeat. “Your Ministry has a department of justice, don’t they? Aurors… that’s what you called them, isn’t it.”

“Dad, Armitage’s father is in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and he’s ranked pretty high too. He’s not on the top, but he might as well be.”

“Isn’t there…” Kes hesitated, hunting for a rebuttal. “You said that your professors know about this.”

“They do.”

“Then why hasn’t anyone done a damn thing?!”

Kes realized he’d spoken too loudly after the fact. They both froze, as if Armitage was bound to burst in and demand to know why they were arguing about him, but nothing happened. The sound of running water upstairs continued without interruption.

“They did,” Poe said, keeping his voice low. “But…”

The incident in second year remained vivid in his memory. It had been the third time Armitage had arrived at school with half-healed welts on his hands. (He had had them elsewhere too – Poe was sure of that from the scars – but those marks were more easily concealed.) Professor Sloane and Professor Skywalker had noted the wounds, decided enough was enough, and contacted the Ministry.

They soon found, however, that the Ministry’s Service for the Protection of Minors, as a subdivision of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was averse to slandering its leading politicians. The charges could have easily slipped through the cracks of the bureaucratic process, but Brendol Hux had not been contented with this stalemate. Years later, Poe had learned the details from Armitage about how his father had taken the case to court and even threatened to press charges against the school for libel.

The family’s lawyers would have been enough to convince the jury. With the added testimony of 12-year-old Armitage in defense of his _loving_ father, the outcome was fixed. Brendol’s pains had been compensated by an official decree that his administration of corporal punishment was simply “strict discipline characteristic of a vigilant parent”.

Armitage had been summoned home for “family matters” shortly afterward. He had returned to Hogwarts a week later with a black eye for falling behind on his schoolwork during the month of the court case.

“They tried but it didn’t work,” Poe concluded. “It just made everything worse. Armitage doesn’t want to fight his father, and after all this time, he shouldn’t have to anymore.” He tightened his fists in vain frustration. “I’d pay anything to see that man rotting in jail, but that won’t happen, and chasing after it won’t do any good.”

He allowed a moment for the defeat to settle in. It would take some time to surrender, and Poe had no doubt the conversation would repeat itself throughout Armitage’s stay, however long that would be. Poe also had yet to surrender. He wasn’t used to settling for mediocrity, salvaged scraps of justice and unsettled debts. He didn’t know if he’d ever be used to it nor did he ever want to.

“Do you know why he left?” Kes asked.

“What?” Poe was sure he’d misunderstood the question. The answer, after all, was obvious, wasn’t it?

“Do you know why he left?” Kes repeated. “Armitage. You said he’s been covering up for everything all these years. Why now?”

“It was bound to happen,” Poe said. “He’s a force to be reckoned with. You’ll see. I knew he’d rise against his father… eventually.”

His father’s dubious look frustrated him. What other answer was there?

The rushing sound of the shower running ceased. The sound of the door to the guest bedroom swinging shut echoed through the house. Soon after, the lights began to flicker.

“What’s going on?” Kes asked.

“He must be practicing a spell or something,” Poe said. “Magic does weird things to electricity sometimes.” He mustered a feeble laugh. “I’ll go check on him.”

“I’ll be off to bed,” Kes said, rising from his seat. “Good night, Poe. Tell Armitage I said good night to him too. Holler if you need anything.”

The groans of shifting furniture resounded down the hall as Poe approached the guest bedroom. He knocked on the door and after receiving a short “Yes. Come in.”, entered intoa peculiar scene.

The platform bed had been transformed into a four-poster model with veil-like grey curtains. The modern décor was now usurped by a Renaissance aesthetic, stone walls complete with a tapestry, the pattern of which vaguely resembled the faded Beatles poster which had hung from the wall since before Poe was born.

As a finishing touch, the electrical lights had been replaced by hovering candles, the exception being the bedside light, which currently resembled a candelabra with a lampshade on top. Armitage had his wand aimed at the incomplete transfiguration. The Muggle clothing he’d borrowed had been transfigured into a black robe, much like their school uniform. He muttered an incantation only to have the candelabra be replaced by a floating lightbulb. Heaving an impatient sigh, he turned to Poe.

“It’ll be back to normal when I leave,” he said. His cheeks were flushed. Poe couldn’t tell whether he was embarrassed about his unannounced transformation of the room or the incomplete transfiguration.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Poe, admiring his partner’s work. “You can stay here as long as you like… might as well make yourself comfortable. And this is pretty impressive anyway. You did all of this in what… ten minutes?”

“More than that,” Armitage replied. He glared at the floating lightbulb. “And I’m still working on the lamp.”

“Still impressive.”

“Hmm, I suppose you could say I was _impassioned_ ,” Armitage scoffed at the romantic phrasing.

“And what inspired you?” Poe asked. “Didn’t know you were an interior designer. Did you decide to take that as a 50th elective?”

“It’s scarcely inspiration,” Armitage looked about the room with downcast recognition. “It’s my bedroom at home.” The word slipped out before he could catch it. He scowled and corrected himself, “Or rather at my father’s house.” He cast his eyes downward, as if in shame. “I needed the familiarity.”

_Why? You’re free now… why do you want to be reminded of that… of him?_

“You look disappointed,” Armitage noted with a frown.

“I…” Poe struggled to find the proper words. “I’m sorry, Tage. I just don’t understand.”

“Well, what would you have understood?” Armitage said with fresh acrimony. “Did you expect me to blot out the past 18 years in the course of one evening?”

“No… I…”

“Funny,” Armitage flared. “That’s what my father expects me to do. He seems to have had an easy enough time forgetting…”

He caught his ire before it could flare any further.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was at once curt and pleading. His eyes were downcast. “I… it’s getting late. We should both try to get some rest…” He drew back the curtain of the bed and gave Poe an empty smile. “Good night. Thank you for letting me stay.”

Poe wanted to stop him, to pour out all his burning questions, but he restrained himself. Rest would no doubt do them good. They were both exhausted in more ways than one.

“Good night. I’m across the hall if you need me, darling.”


	6. Cages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to people who left comments/kudos. It's always nice to read people's thoughts on the events of the chapters and story overall, and it's good to know people are enjoying this. Hope this next chapter is a good read.
> 
> A/N on this chapter: For those of you who are curious about some of Armitage's perceptions, I was trying to base them on the concept of learned helplessness. I'm not a professional writer, but I'm hoping it comes across okay.

_The classroom rang with laughter. Professor Skywalker was applauding Paige Tico somewhere in the front of the room for her Riddikulus charm. Armitage craned his neck to see the hilarious spectacle. He’d been jostled to the back of the line by his eager peers and for once, he was grateful to be there. He’d been dreading the lesson on Boggarts since he’d first read about it in the Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum. He’d never encountered a Boggart and hadn’t any idea what it would turn into. What was certain, if it turned into his father, he would never hear the end of it. As if he wasn’t enough of a pariah after what had happened the previous semester._

_If he was lucky, the class would end before his turn came, and he would be able to defer his humiliation to a private setting. Professor Skywalker was amicable enough. Perhaps he would grant an exception just this once._

_It was Poe’s turn now and the Boggart had turned into an oversized, snarling mandrill. A firm “Riddikulus” transformed the beast into a wind-up monkey toy bearing stunning resemblance to Professor D’Acy. The class sniggered. Even Professor Skywalker chortled, realizing too late that it was in poor taste to encourage the students’ mockery of his colleagues._

_“Real mature,” Armitage said to Poe as the latter sauntered to the back of the line._

_“Come on, even you must have thought that was funny,” Poe said. “Weren’t you mad at her anyway for the low grade on that paper?”_

_He had a point there…_

_The line moved too quickly. Armitage’s hands were already clammy with sweat. He dried them against his robes. His joints stiffened with nerves as the queue of students in front of him dwindled. He was in third place, imagining his father looming over him while his classmates whispered in the back. He was in second place now, dreading the jeers that would follow him as he scrambled back to the Slytherin dormitories._

_He fought back the urge to shut his eyes when his turn arrived. He held his breath as the Boggart remained amorphous, mutating between states faster than he could perceive them. Why was it taking so long? His fear, he knew too well, was far from hidden._

_The image before him was not his father. Instead, it was a setting, the stage of an uncanny play. He recognized it immediately as his father’s study. It was a spacious room on the second floor with a window overlooking the courtyard, lined with file cabinets of Ministry documents and other family heirlooms. Armitage was not permitted in the room unless he was summoned, and he was only ever summoned for one reason. He was looking out the open door of the study now, waiting for his father to come and deal out the punishment. He clenched his fists to keep them from trembling as the sound of footsteps beat in his ears._

_This was when Professor Skywalker had intervened, noticing Armitage’s mounting discomfort, and called the practical lesson to an end. But this time, he did not. Instead, Armitage found himself in a deserted classroom. He looked over his shoulder, hoping to see Poe, but was greeted by the window over the courtyard. The walls of the classroom were melting into the tapestry with the Hux family’s insignia. He felt nauseous. He stumbled backwards against a wooden desk and fell to the floor, looking up just in time to see his father sweep into the study._

**_This is a dream,_ ** _he told himself. **It’s a dream. Wake up.**_

_“Let’s make this quick,” Brendol said. “I have important work tonight and don’t have time for any more trouble from you.”_

_Armitage was already pulling his shirt over his head. His school robes lay folded on his desk. Once his shirt was off, he went on to undo his belt._

**_What do you think you’re doing? Stop it. You imbecile, it’s only a dream. Wake up. Stop._ **

_But he didn’t stop. He knew the motions by rote. It was easier if he obeyed. He’d refused once over some petty dispute, pleading that he’d done nothing wrong. His father had whipped him across the face afterwards for making him wait._

_“Next time you make me ask you twice…” Brendol hadn’t finished the threat, believing that the bloody streak running down his eight-year-old’s tearstained cheek was ample warning enough._

_His father snatched the belt and glared down at him._

_“I assume you know what you’ve done wrong this time, you selfish brat.”_

_Armitage met his father’s gaze. He wanted to curse, to scream that he’d done nothing wrong, that he knew it was all a twisted game and he was done playing along. He wanted to wrestle back the belt and storm out of the study, out of the manor, never to look back._

_“I know, father,” he heard himself whimper. It was a child’s voice, the voice of the quavering boy who couldn’t help but flinch from an imaginary blow every time a professor so much as raised their voice. It was the voice of the boy who’d sealed his own prison when the Service for the Protection of Minors had questioned him, all because he’d been too craven to testify against a fantasy in which he was loved. “I’m sorry.”_

**_Stop. Wake up._ **

_He felt the first tears bloom at the corner of his eyes. Suddenly, he was back at school, facing the Boggart. Professor Skywalker stepped forward._

_“That’s enough of that,” Skywalker announced. “Now, um… go back to your desks and we’ll discuss the theory behind the spell!”_

_Armitage slumped back to his seat next to Poe. He looked to his classmate – they’d only just began to be friends in their third year – hoping to hear a joke or at least see one of those stupid grins to lighten the mood. Instead, Poe glowered at him._

_“Why didn’t you leave?” he asked._

_“I couldn’t,” Armitage said defensively._

_“Sure, you couldn’t,” Poe said, unable to mask the disgust in his voice. “It isn’t as if you’ve had ample opportunities to leave, to get help. You could have gone to Professor Sloane, Skywalker, any of the professors all these years.”_

**_It’s a dream. You’re dreaming. He didn’t say that. You know he didn’t, would never say that._ **

_“You could have asked me, and I would have helped you explain to them in an instant. You could have told the ministry when you had the chance, but no. You’ve always been contented to keep things as they are. You go off and cry about the bruises every fall, but you go back to him every time, no matter how much we try to help you…”_

**_He doesn’t think that. You’re dreaming. Wake up. Please wake up._ **

_“Maybe you deserve it.”_

Armitage awakened from the dream like a drowning man pulled from the sea. He opened his eyes. A flutter of panic rose and fell as he reminded himself that he was no longer in the confines of his old bedroom. The stitches on his arm confirmed that the events of the previous evening had not been a mere fantasy.

His heart hammered against his ribcage as he sat up in bed, rubbing a stray tear from his eyes. Though it must have been very late at night, he felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. Time was always warped in dreams, especially nightmares.

He held his face in the hands and leaned back down on the pillow. He was too old to be kept awake by such puerile troubles as nightmares. With more than enough _real_ problems to confront, it was foolish to ruminate over a child’s anxieties.

After another unsuccessful hour of bargaining with sleep, Armitage gave in. He drew back the grey curtains from his bed and slid into the night slippers he’d transfigured from a pair of old sneakers. They were delicate slippers, laced with intricate patterns near the toes. He’d always been fond of small aesthetic pleasures, subtle details on otherwise dull items. His father had hated this preference. After the disaster in Armitage’s third year, he’d barred his son from owning “effeminate” items.

Armitage had later made it a point to collect such trinkets just to spite him, keeping his store of cheap jewelry and small gifts from Poe under his bed in the Slytherin dormitories. It was a trivial gesture, a pathetic symbol of resistance. Yet, it had been his sole lasting act of disobedience.

Of course, the trinket collection soon paled in comparison to the _revolt_ that came in his sixth year. He and Poe had known each other’s feelings before then, though Armitage wasn’t sure how long on his behalf. He’d been too petrified by the thought of confronting that part of him to even consider romance at first. Poe had been patient, and in a string of events that still felt irrational (for Poe was anything but rational) his patience had been rewarded by a hastily planned date.

It was nothing more than a walk around the school grounds – Armitage didn’t have the consent forms to go to Hogsmeade – but it had still felt rebellious, and it had launched the momentum. Sometimes, Armitage was absorbed by paranoia. Other times, he was invigorated by the idea of defiance, the faint but tangible possibility of freedom.

“Now, aren’t you a rebel?” Poe had teased the first time they made love. They’d been in the Slytherin prefect dormitories while the other prefects were away on a weekend retreat. Armitage was still getting used to gentle contact. Though his uneasiness lingered on, there had been something markedly _right_ about that night. He still remembered that instant when his anxieties had subsided long enough for him to enjoy Poe’s touch, long enough for him to consider that maybe, just maybe, he could uncage himself. He needed that reassurance now.

Poe answered the door immediately. Judging from the fact that his lights were still on, he hadn’t been sleeping much either, or perhaps Armitage had woken him up. It had never mattered in the past.

“May I come in?” he asked.

“Have I ever said no to that?” Poe replied, locking the door behind them. “You okay? You look sick…”

“I’m just tired, drained, I…” Armitage met Poe’s worried gaze. “I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier.”

“I already forgot about that,” Poe said. “This is hardest for you, I know…” He chewed his lower lip, contemplating his next words. Armitage closed the gap between them before he could decide.

Armitage wasn’t the type to ask for anything aloud in such situations. He didn’t allow himself words that revealed his vulnerability, his need for comfort. Fortunately, Poe had learned to read the signs, pausing intermittently for a soft “yes” before continuing with his motions, vigilant for any indications of discomfort.

Armitage clung to his partner, subduing the voices that decried him for weakness. He curled his fingers through Poe’s hair, focusing on their racing heartbeats, the hands running down his spine and past his waist. His back arched and he drew in a shuddering breath, adjusting himself so he could reach around to kiss Poe’s neck at just the right spot.

Raw desperation surged through his veins, matched by Poe’s rising fervor. Armitage leaned his head back, steadying his breathing as Poe pressed inside him. He needed to make the present feel real, to savor the fleeting solace. It was the only way to rise above the past.

And just for a moment, there were no derisive words, no condemning gaze to hold them back as they relished each other’s ecstasy.

When they had both finished, Armitage withdrew to the bathroom to clean himself. The fluorescent lights were an unpleasant change from the placid darkness of the bedroom. He could already feel the ephemeral glints of relief diminishing. Still, the fleeting reprieve had been – and he hoped would always be – worth it.

In the mirror above the sink, a weary face with tousled hair stared back at him. The petrified visage of the boy in his nightmares lay behind a thin veil. Even the shortest glimpse made him want to shatter the reflection into a thousand shards.

He jumped at the sound of the door opening but relaxed when he realized who it was. Poe looked refreshed, still lingering on edges of a pleasant haze. Between the two of them, he had always been the one who held the sensation longer, letting it fade with gradual ease. The fact had never bothered Armitage, who was pleased to prolong his partner’s contentment (he had even begun to take some pride in it).

This time, however, Poe was not simply content. Armitage had noted the underlying uncertainty, the way Poe’s words seemed to trail off at the end of a phrase, as if to leave room for an unspoken question. The answers were overdue.

“You doing alright, darling?” Poe asked, slinging an arm around his partner.

Armitage turned off the faucet and clasped Poe’s hand.

“I’m fine,” he lied.

“Just ‘fine’? Doesn’t say too much about my performance…” The gibe was weak, lacking the usual playful cockiness.

“Your ego is incorrigible.” Armitage’s response was similarly lacking in frivolity. He paused to give Poe the chance for a retort, half hoping that they’d be able to avoid the point with further banter, but the other man remained quiet. Knowing he could delay the subject no further, Armitage ushered in the question, “I’m alright. Why do you ask?”

“You don’t seem like you are,” Poe said, as if the answer weren’t obvious. “You were shaking when you came to my room.”

Armitage didn’t recall trembling, but it wasn’t an outrageous assumption. Some instincts were impossible to kill.

“I…” he wanted to make an excuse, to say that he’d been tired, that the incident was nothing but another bought of insomnia, but he decided against it. “It’s a minor thing, really. Just a nightmare.” His face flushed with shame for confiding such a childish fear. “Just a stupid dream, something that happened years ago…”

He felt Poe’s hand tense, locking their fingers together in a clenched grasp.

“Your father?” Poe asked, growling the words like a taboo expletive.

“Yes,” Armitage hated how _predictable_ the answer was. “But it wasn’t just him. It was back in our third year in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Do you remember that lesson with the Boggarts?”

“Yeah,” Poe replied with a nod. “I do.”

“Do you remember what mine turned into?”

Poe paused to consider before answering at length, “His footsteps.”

“Well, yes, but that was only a part of it. It was his study.” Armitage could see the image before him now, vivid as it had been that day at Hogwarts. “It was like I was looking in through a window, only I was inside the room. It was just like home.” _Your father’s house, you mean_ , he silently corrected himself. The realization still stung. “He’d always tell me to wait for him there before he…”

Armitage decided against elaborating on the matter. Poe had heard it all before; he had seen the scars for himself. Revisiting the details would only incense him further, and Armitage needed to preserve his equanimity.

“I don’t know where he went off to, but he’d always make me wait, just to see that I would obey him, and I wouldn’t fight him no matter how much it hurt.”

Armitage pictured the study now, the doors flung open before him, his father nowhere in sight. Even as a young child, he had thought of escape. It was an elusive fantasy, undulating in and out of reach.

“He always left the doors unlocked, wide open. I could have run. It wouldn’t have done any good in the end. In fact, it probably would have made things worse. He would have caught me, but I could have made things harder for him.” An absurd thought crept into his mind and he laughed under his breath. “Or maybe he wouldn’t have. Maybe I could have run all the way to the front gates and broken out.”

The truth was, he had had a plan to run away. The worst part was that his father hadn’t been the one to snuff it out. No, he’d killed the plan himself, too frightened of the inchoate future to free himself.

He’d heard stories of what happened to children who left the protection of their parents. His father had used these tales to caution him against Muggles. The Muggles, he was told, had religious cults that hunted down magical folk and brutally murdered them for their “unnatural abilities”. Outside the cults, there were gangs who targeted underaged wizards and witches to fill their perverted desires.

These legends alone were enough to terrify any child into staying within the boundaries, but Muggles hadn’t been his only fears. He’d noticed the contempt with which is fathers’ friends regarded him. Their contempt was clear even without his father’s strict instructions to keep quiet and avoid eye contact in the presence of pureblood adults.

He had later heard the rumors concerning his blood status, gossip about how Brendol had been duped into an affair with a Muggle-born maid claiming to be pureblood. Armitage had had no way of telling whether the rumors were true and had never dared to ask, but true or not, they were pervasive. He wouldn’t have found welcome in another wizarding household. If he had escaped, there would have been no one to run to. It was no wonder that his father had always reminded him to be grateful.

“The doors were open,” Armitage’s voice cracked as he fought back the lump in his throat. “I could have run, but I didn’t.”

He was ready to confess now. He would tell Poe what had happened when he returned to the manor with his father, the row that ensued, how his father had had looked about ready to kill him before deciding the culpability wasn’t worth it and casting him out instead. Armitage didn’t know who had told his father about Poe or how the snitch had found out. There hadn’t been a chance to ask amidst Brendol’s invectives.

Armitage had been freed, but it had been by his father’s will. He’d been discarded, not liberated, disowned and sent away to beg for charity.

All because he was still too weak to walk out those doors.

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” Poe said. He pulled Armitage closer. “It’s in the past. You left in the end.”

Armitage’s heart sank.

“That’s why you’re here now,” Poe went on. “You’re rid of him, and I know that took guts. But you’ve always had that in you.”

_You’re wrong. I never did._

 “You’ve always been so brave.”

Armitage turned to face his partner. The sincerity in Poe’s eyes filled him with guilt. Though he felt like fraud, he couldn’t bring himself to crush that loving pride.

He berated himself for selfishness. Poe deserved the intrepid counterpart who he believed he was in love with, the fighter Armitage longed to be. Poe deserved to know the truth. Yet, the thought of him withdrawing his touch, recoiling from Armitage as in the nightmare was too much to bear.

So, he held his tongue and allowed Poe to lead him back to bedroom. Poe’s bed was barely big enough for the two of them, but a simple charm mended the issue. After one last kiss for the night, the couple drifted off in each other’s arms.

No sooner had he closed his eyes did Armitage sink into another dream. In it, he was walking backwards, down the sidewalk while the snow fell fast, past cars and highways until the suburbs gave way to countryside. He kept walking until he found himself at the familiar entrance. He passed through the gates, though the doors and up the winding staircase, only stopping when he reached his childhood bedroom.

He awoke from the dream with a start. Poe was breathing peacefully beside him, still deep in slumber. Armitage did not wake him.

_Returning to the manor, he climbed into bed and snuffed out the candles with a wave of his wand. He gave a quick glance around the room, as if he were still a small boy afraid of nocturnal monsters. Ascertaining that there were none, he pulled the covers over his head, curled up beneath them and willed himself to sleep._


	7. Autonomy

It soon became clear to Poe that he and Armitage very different ideas of how a holiday was meant to be. The latter returned to studying the day after Christmas. Given how obsessed he’d been with the N.E.W.Ts throughout the school year, it was a miracle that he’d managed to stay away from his textbooks for nearly a week. Of course, he hadn’t had much of a choice. His own textbooks, along with the rest of his school supplies, robes and essentially every other personal belonging save his wand had been left behind.

It wasn’t normal for Armitage to be this unprepared. The apparent lack of planning worried Poe. He still had yet to learn what violence or threats had driven Armitage to run away, but his imagination cooked up more nightmarish scenarios each day.

“Must you scribble all over your books?” Armitage grumbled, flipping over a page of a battered textbook. His fingers pinched the edges of the parchment as if it were made of soiled linens.

He had borrowed several of Poe’s textbooks for the time being. It was a partial solution at best. Poe had enrolled in the standard five N.E.W.T-level courses. Armitage, on the other hand, had decided – for reasons that seemed suicidal to most of the student body – to register for twelve. He was one of nine students in their year who had been able to do so. (Professor Sloane had made certain that only students with an “Outstanding” O.W.L grade and a history of high grades in the class were admitted to the upper-level potions section. This factor had cut the class size to a quarter of the full enrollment capacity, notwithstanding the fact that half of the students were too intimidated by Sloane to register.)

“I like to take notes in the margins,” Poe replied. He was on the other side of the sitting room, attempting to feed Beebee. The owl flapped its wings as if to shoo him, turning its beak away from its lunch. Apparently, the frozen mice Poe had purchased from the Muggle pet shop were a poor offering in comparison to the free-range hunting Beebee enjoyed at Hogwarts. “Helps me stay focused.”

Armitage held up the book, pointing to a scribbled drawing in the corner of the page.

“That’s… school-related,” Poe insisted. “It’s my personal illustration.”

“It looks like a deformed parrot,” Armitage said, frowning at the drawing. “I fail to see how that’s at all related to anything we’ve learned.”

“It’s my Patronus.”

“Your Patronus is a deformed parrot?”

“It’s a hippogriff.”

“That’s right. It really does suit you… dangerous, arrogant, flying around everywhere…”

“Why, thank you, darling.”

Poe dodged another blow from Beebee’s outspread wings. He held up the limp mouse again, only to have the owl fling it to the ground and fly up to a higher perch atop the bookshelf.

A jingling bell sounded in the adjacent hallway. Poe snatched up the mouse just in time before a curious Millicent could use it as a toy. The cat mewled in annoyance and trotted off to her favorite human companion. She settled near Armitage’s feet, her ears perked up as she watched him practice the stance for a charm.

“What are you trying to do?” Poe asked.

“Studying obviously,” Armitage replied, focusing on his wand and muttering an inaudible incantation.

A glance at the open textbook revealed the source of the problem. Usually, Armitage picked up new spells quicker than most of the class. The Patronus Charm was an exception. After over a year of studying, his execution of the charm was still below the standard proficiency. Apparently, his father had neglected the spell in his private tutoring. Poe imagined it would have been near impossible to cast a successful Patronus with Brendol looming over one’s shoulder.

“You’re going to have to do it louder,” Poe suggested. He retrieved his own wand from the coffee table and demonstrated with a clear, “Expecto Patronum.” A stream of silver light issued forth, briefly taking the shape of a Hippogriff before dissipating like mist. “Now, you try.”

Armitage gave his wand a lackluster wave with a muffled incantation.

“Come on, Hugs,” said Poe. “Since when did you have problems saying stuff louder?”

“Expecto Patronum!”

The incantation came out as an exasperated scream, hardly suitable for the nature of the charm. Armitage let his wand fall to his side with a huff.

“Maybe you could try it again?” Poe said. “Maybe say it a little more…”

“It’s not the bloody incantation, Poe,” Armitage cut him off. “You know it’s not that…”

He took a seat on the couch, head bowed, wand lying idly in his lap. Poe joined him, slowly weaving an arm around his lover’s shoulder.

“You could try another memory.”

Poe knew he’d made a mistake, interfering when he had no solution in mind. But it wasn’t in his nature to let broken things be, even if it meant being officious at best or intrusive at worst.

“Oh, I never thought of _that_ before,” Armitage growled. “I’m not a bloody idiot, Poe.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to help…”

“I know you are. You _always_ are even when there’s nothing you can do.”

“Armitage…” Poe tried to pull his partner closer.

_“Stop.”_

Armitage broke free of Poe’s grasp with a jerk of his arm. He remained seated, his shoulders stiff, his gaze settled on an arbitrary spot on his socks. Poe waited for something more, a bought of rage that he could assuage or an apology that he could soothe, but Armitage remained distant.

“I’m sorry,” Poe couldn’t think of anything else to say. He got to his feet. “I’ll leave you to your studying. I… I don’t want to distract you.”

Armitage said nothing in return. Deciding it was best to leave him alone, Poe left for the third floor, calling Beebee to follow him. The owl swooped down from the bookshelf, resting for a moment on the banister before flying up to Poe’s bedroom. A mix of human and avian shouts of surprise echoed through the foyer.

“Give me a warning before you send that bird zooming up out of nowhere like that!” Poe’s father muttered, picking up a feather from one of the steps. “He has talons. _Sharp_ talons. And he’s dropping feathers like nobody’s business.”

“He’s almost done molting,” Poe said. “They molt once a year. I’ll sweep around the house later.”

“Armitage did that this morning. He’s a lot neater than you, you know.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Before Poe could retreat to his room, Kes stopped him at the top of the stairs.

“Is everything alright?” Kes asked. “I heard shouting.”

“Everything’s fine,” Poe said hurriedly. “We were just practicing spells. That’s all. Tage has a lot of tests and he’s stressed.”

He closed the door behind him, preempting any further questions. Beebee was resting on his perch across from the bed, his head tilted to the side with a puzzled look. Poe settled down at his desk, rifling absentmindedly through a worn copy of _Quidditch Through the Ages_. He wasn’t in any mood to read, but it seemed like a good distraction.

The book had been a gift from Armitage just before Poe’s tryouts for the Quidditch team. Armitage had served as an informal tutor in magical mores since they’d first met. Though he had made it clear from the start that he was not the sociable type, he was not too withdrawn to teach, albeit reluctantly at times. Receiving a lesson, however, was another matter, something that he decidedly abhorred when the mentor in question was one of his peers.

Poe had learned that the hard way whilst trying to aid Armitage after an unspecified malaise set the latter a week behind in his classes. After multiple attempts to offer his notes, each of which were met with irate refusal, Poe had finally capitulated, leaving his roommate to handle the problem on his own. The end result had cost Armitage several sleepless nights, headaches and even more stress than his usual load, none of which he regretted.

Now, Armitage was still leery of even the smallest helpful gestures. When he had no choice but to accept one, he would react first with anger followed by shame. He had been wavering between the two since arriving at the Dameron residence. Accepting charity (he still viewed it as such) had taken a toll on his pride, leaving him especially irritable. Poe tried to be sympathetic, but he couldn’t deny his frustration struggling against the same barriers – barriers he had thought would be weakened by their new circumstances.

A knock on the door broke the silence. Poe put down his book, realizing that he had glazed over three pages without absorbing a single word.

“You need something?” he asked, trying and failing to dissemble his irritation.

“I wanted to talk with you.” Armitage peered into the room. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, of course” Poe said. “I mean, this is pretty much your room too now. Not that I mind. It’s…” He glanced across the hall at the guest bedroom before shutting the door. “It’s probably healthier for you to stay here.”

Armitage didn’t argue with this assessment. Poe was grateful for it. They’d already had a row over the subject after Armitage completed the final transfigurations to replicate his childhood bedroom. Though the fight had ended in a stalemate, he’d moved to Poe’s bedroom most nights. Sometimes, he gave a mumbled explanation – a nightmare or difficulty sleeping – before dozing off. Other nights, he was anxious and bleary-eyed, frightened by worries or dreams he refused to share.

“ _Quidditch Through the Ages,_ ” Armitage examined the battered book. “Still reading it after all this time?”

“I skim through it every now and then,” said Poe. “One of the few times I’ve actually liked reading history…” He paused to give Armitage the chance to speak before probing him, “So, what was it you wanted to tell me?”

“I’ve been… considering some practical parts of our situation,” Armitage said. “Financial matters, specifically.” He curled his fingers tighter around the book to keep them from fidgeting. “As you know, my father never let me have my own vault in Gringotts, even after I turned eighteen. Of course, he kept telling me I’d get one when I proved I was ‘responsible’ enough for one.”

“Same reason that bastard didn’t want to sign your permission slip to Hogsmeade,” Poe said with unabashed disgust. “Don’t you have savings from that job you had last summer?”

“Yeah, I suppose I do.” Armitage gave a cynical laugh. “But it’s all in _his_ vault, so we can count that as a loss. Now, there isn’t anything stopping me from keeping my own savings. I’m free of him.” He lingers on the word “free” as if uncertain whether it’s a fair description. “I’ll just need a job of my own, something that will at least pay to replace my school materials.”

Poe doesn’t answer immediately. He’s already given Armitage countless affordable suggestions to replace his books. Surely, the professors had enough spare copies to offer. Poe had even offered to send a letter to Sloane on the issue, but Armitage had turned him down.

But this concerned more than finances alone. A job meant autonomy, _dignity_ , exactly what Brendol had robbed from his son.

“There’s a sweet shop I worked at last summer,” Poe suggested, though he knew Armitage wouldn’t be keen on anything non-magical, even if it was only temporary. “But you probably have something in mind.”

“I do,” Armitage said. “It’s a little café around Diagon Alley. The owner’s always looking for people to wait tables, and he’s very open to short-term arrangements. I was about to work there before I got the summer job at Flourish and Blotts.”

“Is there a reason you don’t want to go back to Flourish and Blotts?” Poe asked.

“Awkward hours, mostly.” Armitage answered too hastily for Poe to fully believe him. “I need something that will fit with my schedule while I study for the N.E.W.Ts.”

It was a reasonable point, perhaps not the main reason, but certainly something worth considering.

“I don’t know if anything will fit your schedule too well once school picks up,” Poe said. “But this is just for the break, right?” He could already tell by the uneasy look on his partner’s face that he wasn’t going to like the answer.

“I’ll see how it goes for now and decide later,” Armitage replied. “I’m sure I can get a permission slip to disapparate from Hogsmeade if I need to.”

“No.”

Armitage’s glare hardened.

“‘No’ to what?” he said. “In case you misunderstood, Poe, I don’t need your permission to find a job for…”

“Of course, you don’t! It’s just…” Poe took a breath to compose himself. “You’re already stressed enough trying to study for twelve N.E.W.Ts, not to mention the tutoring you volunteered to do for Sloane’s first years. I don’t want you to overload yourself.”

Armitage clenched his jaw as if he were preparing to snap back. When he spoke, however, his voice was softer:

“You worry too much about me,” he said.

“And that’s supposed to be a bad thing?” Poe said.

“No.” The certainty in Armitage’s voice came as a relief. “But you could take a break from it sometimes. Might be better for both of us.”

“The same way you could take a break from studying,” Poe teased. “We could have more time to ourselves.”

“You’re a terrible influence.” Armitage smiled in spite of himself. “You know that, don’t you?”

“I know.”

 

Armitage wasted no time in starting work. The next morning, he was gone before the sun rose to its full height, returning in the afternoon to announce that the arrangements were settled. The day after, he was out the entire day, coming back late in the evening just in time for a quick meal before bed. In the days that followed, his return was progressively delayed until he missed dinner entirely.

Poe crept down the stairs, careful not to wake his father. From the sound of footsteps in the foyer, Armitage had arrived back about half an hour ago. However, he had yet to come to bed. He hadn’t even taken his evening shower, a ritual he never skipped even on the busiest school nights.

“Tage?”

A faint glow emanated from the sitting room, leading Poe to where Armitage was crouched over, peering down at a guide to mind-altering charms, his wand acting as a lamp with the _Lumos_ charm.

“Go back to sleep,” he droned. “I’ll be up soon enough…”

“When did you get back?” Poe asked.

No answer.

“Did you eat dinner?”

Armitage mumbled an unintelligible reply accompanied by a slight shake of his head.

“Come on, then,” Poe said. “Let’s get you something.”

He took a step towards the kitchen. Seeing that Armitage had no intention of following, Poe decided to take more drastic measures, snatching the book away from his partner.

“Give it back,” Armitage whined.

“You can read it over a late dinner.” Poe dodged his partner’s swipe for the book. “I saved leftovers for you. They just need to be heated up. I’ll do it if you don’t want to use the microwave.”

If Armitage hadn’t been only half-awake, he would have tried to wrestle back the book. Being exhausted as he was, however, he decided it wasn’t worth the struggle.

“You’re bloody annoying,” he muttered.

“Call it what you want,” Poe said. “I don’t care as long as you eat.”

He pulled the bowl of leftover stew from the fridge. After a minute in the microwave, he placed it in front of his groggy partner.

“Go on,” he said. “Don’t make me have to spoon-feed you. I’ll never let you forget it if I do.”

Fortunately, Armitage didn’t need any more coaxing after the first spoonful. He finished his portion quickly, returning to his book immediately after.

“How long is your shift supposed to be, anyway?” Poe asked.

“It’s flexible,” Armitage murmured. “I’m paid by the hour, just like I told you.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I’m sure you have enough to buy a few books by now,” said Poe, “Enough to keep you busy studying for the rest of the break at least. You said it’s 1 Galleon and 8 Sickles an hour. The books are about 10 to 15 Galleons each. You’ve put in over thirty hours at least since you started.”

“Less than that,” Armitage said. “They don’t count lunchbreaks, and I had to pay for a plate I broke. They took that out of my salary.”

“Unless it was a diamond-plated dish, that shouldn’t eat through your whole salary. You must have at least 20… 30 Galleons saved up by now.”

Armitage gave no reply.

“You _have_ been getting paid, haven’t you? I thought you said you’d get your paycheck by now.”

“It’s just late,” Armitage insisted. “They said they’d get it to me by the end of the break.”

“Who’s ‘they’ anyway?” Poe made no attempt to conceal his growing contempt for the anonymous employer. “You mean they lied to you about your paycheck?”

It occurred to him that he really didn’t know where Armitage worked, only that it involved waiting tables near Diagon Alley. If it was anywhere that they both knew, he would have been more specific. It wasn’t like him to leave out details by mistake, which meant the omission was deliberate.

“The owner of the café,” Armitage answered with marked reluctance. “And they didn’t lie, they’re just… delayed.”

“Sounds like a scam to me,” said Poe.

“Ah yes, of course. Everything’s a conspiracy.”

Poe sat down across the table from his partner, who hid behind the pages of his textbook.

“Do you want me to talk to them?”

Armitage slammed down his book and stared at the other man. His eyes, which had been half-closed a moment ago for want of sleep, were wide with both incredulousness and affront.

“How helpless do you think I am, Poe?” His voice simmered. “You think I wouldn’t take up the issue with them myself if there was one to begin with? That I’d be too scared to do it?”

“Tage, you know I didn’t mean it like that,” Poe said.

“Then let me handle this myself,” Armitage snapped.

He had backed himself into a corner, ready to lunge just to prove that he wasn’t defenseless. There was no coaxing or reasoning that could sway him now. Poe had seen it before, back when he’d questioned the fresh marks which Armitage dismissed as old scars, back when he’d pleaded with him not to go back for the summer after their third year, having seen how Brendol Hux had nearly driven his son to suicide.

Poe had let Armitage have his way each of those times. They’d fought before, exchanging accusations and worries until they were both hoarse from shouting, but ultimately, Poe had conceded. He had allowed Armitage to keep his illusion of control at the cost of further harm, both physical and mental. Every time they faced the aftermath, Armitage would reassure them both, downplaying the damage, raving about a nonexistent future in which the present situation bore no weight. Poe, however, had come to see past the rose-tinted vision.

Now, he was faced with the same challenge, and this time, he knew he loved Armitage too much to let him have his way.

Armitage refused to come to bed until he’d finished another chapter of charms, letting Poe return to the bedroom alone to devise his next move. He knew from the time his partner got out of bed in the morning that the latter apparated to his job just after dawn. Armitage was a creature of habit, especially when it came to spells. Hence, he usually apparated to the same spot for a given destination. If he was going to Diagon Alley, he likely arrived first in front of the Apothecary. It would be easy enough to follow him from there.

If all went well, the clandestine excursion would lead Poe to one of the many innocuous restaurants or pubs in the area. In all likelihood, there was no need for his snooping. His doubts, however, were not without justification.

Armitage had mentioned having several options for a summer job; he’d also mentioned that the post he ultimately accepted at Flourish and Blotts had not been his father’s first choice. When asked what Brendol could possibly have against the bookstore, Armitage had given a vague explanation of how his job organizing shelves was not prestigious enough for his father’s tastes. He’d declined to share any details on what jobs his father might have preferred, leaving Poe to speculate.

He had spoken with Finn on the subject a few months prior. The Gryffindor speculated that Brendol was keen on a job in Knockturn Alley. The shopkeepers there had made some effort to distance themselves from the area’s old reputation as a gathering place for the Dark Arts, but the appeal to Blood Purists had remained largely unchanged since the 20th century.

_“You know they like to hire half-bloods there,” Finn had told him. “Not for the good jobs. Just menial work, low pay. The Purists get a kick out of it, having people of ‘lesser blood status’ serving them. Muggle-borns are pretty much blacklisted.”_

_“Isn’t that illegal?” Poe has asked._

_“Are you kidding?” Finn had seemed shocked that an older student could be so naïve. “They can’t even fire people like old Hux and Tarkin for supporting a quota on Muggle-borns in Hogwarts.”_

_“But… Armitage is Pureblood. Wouldn’t his dad want to stop him from working there?”_

_“Well…” Finn had paused there, careful not to overstep the boundaries. “Didn’t you say that there were rumors about that?”_

It didn’t make sense that Armitage would seek out a job based on his past abuser’s preferences. It also didn’t make sense that he would transfigure his bedroom to look like his past prison. Poe didn’t understand either of his partner’s actions; all he knew was that this time, he was going to look out for him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are appreciated. Constructive criticism is welcomed too.


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